Winter of My Years
by TheLestrangeMistress
Summary: Winter arrives at Hogwarts and Argus Filch feels the same bitterness and melancholy settle over him.


**A/N: This is for Round 11 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I am Beater 2 for Puddlemere United and I used the prompts (emotion) Bitterness, and (emotion) melancholy. This is also for the fanfiction writing month and is 1082 words.**

Argus Filch felt that he was much older than sixty five. He had been caretaker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for almost forty years now, and he had never quite felt like this. The winter this year seemed to be harsher and more bitter than before and it only seemed to exacerbate his bitterness towards the students.

"I have spent ages cleaning that! Follow me, now!" he exclaimed.

"It's only a bit of mud," the student said shrugging.

It was obvious that they didn't care about how much effort he put into keeping things clean.

"Only a bit of mud? I have spent an hour cleaning this hallway and you muck it up in two seconds. No, it will not do. I am giving you detention."

"For that piece of mud? You've got to be kidding me," the student replied in shock.

"You've left a whole trail of it. I can see it going around the corner from here," Argus said defiantly.

He didn't understand why they had to make his job harder than it already was. It would take two seconds for them to perform a cleaning charm on themselves and yet they never do.

Argus knew that cleaning up after the students would take up the majority of his time, but he never thought that they wouldn't appreciate how much effort he put into it.

They must have worked out that he was a squib, even if Harry Potter had never told anyone of the Kwikspell letter he had found in his office. He had tried the course and he had failed spectacularly.

"There was never any guarantee that it would work, Argus. As far as I know, no squib has ever been able to practice magic," Albus Dumbledore said sympathetically.

"They shouldn't be offering their services then, should they?" he said bitterly.

"No, they should not. I will let the Ministry know of the deception," Albus put his hand up as he started to protest, "I will not say that it was you who came to me. You have my word that I will not reveal anything unless you want me too."

Dumbledore had made good on his word, but nothing had come of it until the war was over and tighter regulations had been brought in. He had been sent an owl with an apology attached stating that he would receive a full refund after the business had been confirmed as misrepresenting itself.

He had thought that coming to Hogwarts as caretaker and being a part of the magical world would ease his shame of being a squib, but it had only made it worse. It was a constant reminder of everything he could never do, and he both envied and resented the students in equal measure.

They, in turn, resented him. The other half of his job was to make sure that they were following the rules such as confiscating banned items they brought into the school, not being out past curfew, and making sure that students stayed away from forbidden areas of the castle. It was a hard job to do when there were so many troublemakers around, although he had to admit things had calmed down since Harry Potter was no longer at the school.

All these feelings came to the fore during the long winter months and this winter seemed to be taking it's toll on him more than ever.

Every morning he woke feeling cold despite the fire roaring in the grate, and his bones ached and creaked as he moved around the room. One day he was certain that he wouldn't be able to get up and that his body would just give in to the inevitable. Every year winter seemed to affect his aged body more and more and there was nothing he or anyone could do about it. Growing old was the one thing that magic couldn't stop, and even if it could Argus wasn't sure he would want it to anyway.

The only comfort in his life seemed to be Mrs Norris. The cat had been his faithful familiar for many years, but even she could not stave off the feeling loneliness he had at times. He had tried to find a woman he could spend his life with, but each time it lead to nowhere. As the years wore on the chances of finding someone became slimmer and slimmer until there was no chance at all.

It meant that there was no one waiting for him when he got back to his rooms, no one to ask how his day was, or to even just sit with him in the evening. He had no one left but his old faithful cat.

The only time Argus escaped how he felt was when he was asleep. He couldn't tell you what he dreamt of, only that he felt happy and content. Perhaps he dreamt of having magic, or finding a woman who could love him. It didn't matter as long as he got some reprieve from his lonely, bitter days.

Sometimes he wondered when his reprieve would become permanent. When would he finally leave the earth? Would heaven be any better for him than his life here? Argus dearly hoped so, but he once heard that hope only bred eternal misery.

He trudged around the cold, draughty hallways of the castle hoping that he would find nothing or no one out of place. His bed had been calling him for hours, but he would not rest until his job was done.

"Argus? What are you still doing up?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"Checking the castle for students out of bed, professor," he replied.

"Go to bed, Argus. I will check the rest of this floor for you," she said as he hesitated to leave.

"Thank you, professor."

"There's no need to thank me. I am sure your cold and need to warm up. Do you want me to send an elf with some hot chocolate to your rooms?"

"No, thank you," he replied before walking away.

Although his bitterness towards the students had grown alongside his feelings of melancholy, Argus Filch wouldn't quit his job. Hogwarts had been his home for the past forty years, and it would be his home until he died. He figured that his feelings would only get worse if he wasn't working as there would be nothing to do during the days. At least this way he felt like he was actually accomplishing something.


End file.
